


Eavesdropper

by pinlilli



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Masturbation, Merlin has a small cock, Pining Arthur, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 14:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14262642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinlilli/pseuds/pinlilli
Summary: While camping overnight, Arthur overhears Merlin masturbating.





	Eavesdropper

**Author's Note:**

> _kinksofcamelot_ prompt fill for the anon who requested: “This anon would like for Arthur to overhear Merlin masturbating one night when they're camping overnight, just when he's about to drift off to sleep. Anon would love it if Arthur didn't realise what it was that he was hearing at first but that when he does he finds himself unable to resist wanking too.”

The winter months are making a slow transition to spring, though the ground has yet to thaw and Arthur can feel the frost seeping through his bedroll and into his blankets. He and Merlin sleep back to back to conserve heat, but his fingers have gone numb and he’s not even sure if he has toes anymore. He clutches his fur blanket closer to his chin. The only comfort he has is knowing that this is the closest he will ever get to having Merlin in his bed.

Yes, he is aware of how pathetic he is.

If he’s this cold, he can only imagine how cold Merlin must be, being as skinny-chested as he is. The self-sacrificing idiot had even insisted Arthur take the spare blanket. Said the same old thing about how it wasn’t right, that a prince should freeze to keep his manservant warm. After Arthur had drunk poison for him, after all those times he had lied to his father to keep Merlin safe, he thought it would get through Merlin’s thick head that there wasn’t a damn thing Arthur wouldn’t do for him. 

Just as he’s about to drift off, he hears it, the tiniest hitch of breath. He would have missed it if he weren’t listening so intently to Merlin’s inhales and exhales with the hope they would lull him to sleep.

He passes it off as one of Merlin’s sleepy snuffles. It reminds him that he should try to sleep, too. They have to wake and be on their way at first light.

There it is again: a soft, sweet kitten noise followed by a shaky exhale.

Immediately, he is alert, eyes straining into the dark and ears attuned to the smallest of noises. He doesn’t even breathe. This time, there is no mistaking that what he hears is a poorly smothered moan. Arthur’s cock twitches with interest in his smallclothes. He tells himself to calm down. It might not even be what he thinks it is. 

Merlin sighs, either caught in the middle of a fantastic dream or… 

Jesus, if Arthur didn’t know better, he’d think his manservant was rubbing one out beside him. But he does know better. This is _Merlin_ he’s talking about. Merlin, who could never be so brazen, who grows flustered when Arthur makes a dirty joke. It’s Merlin with his stupid ears and guileless eyes and full lips. Merlin, whom Arthur can’t bloody damn stop thinking about.

It’s not the first time he’s wondered what Merlin looks like when he’s being pleasured. Does he clench his eyes shut? Do his brows furrow and lips part as though he’s being tormented? Perhaps Merlin looks as he does when he pulls off his knight’s helm after Arthur turned him into a practise dummy. Flush with colour and shoulders heaving with his breaths; hair curled and sticking to his temples; sweat sliding down his throat to collect in the delicate hollow of his collarbones.

Oh gods, Arthur can hear the slickness of Merlin’s hand moving over his cock. He bites down on his lower lip, hand hovering a mere inch above the waist of his trousers, uncertain. His cock tents obscenely against the front. 

Merlin curses softly and Arthur can no longer help himself. He licks his palm and slides his hand into his smalls to grip himself. He can hardly believe he’s doing this and yet here he is. Wanking himself in time to Merlin’s ragged breaths and gasps of pleasure. Pretending that it’s Merlin’s long and lithe fingers stroking him instead of his own sword-calloused ones. 

If this is Merlin trying to be quiet, he can only imagine how loud he would be if Arthur were purposefully trying to make him moan.

It would be so easy, he thinks, to turn around so they were pressed chest to back instead and Merlin’s arse was tucked against his pelvis. He’d drape an arm over Merlin’s waist, and Merlin would go rigid in his arms, but he wouldn’t push Arthur away. No, he’d gently brush his fingers over Arthur’s own, and that would be all the permission Arthur needed to slide his palm down that taut and trembling belly to take Merlin’s cock in his hand. _(“Arthur, what are you doing?” Merlin would ask, voice shaking. Arthur would shush him quietly. Nuzzle into the curve of his neck and say, “Let me do this for you.”)_

He has seen Merlin’s cock before, when he had burst into his and Gaius’s chambers just as Merlin was stepping out of the bath, small and slender in delightful proportion to the rest of him. He had glimpsed it for all but a second before Merlin had stumbled and sloshed water everywhere in a scramble to protect his dignity. _(“Jesus, Arthur! Did you never learn how to knock?” Merlin had said, cheeks pink, skin pink, nipples pink, and Arthur had countered, “I didn’t realise I had to knock before entering a room in_ my _castle.”)_

He recalls that image now. Thinks about how perfectly Merlin would fit in the cup of his palm. If he closed his fingers in a fist, the tip of Merlin’s cock would barely peek out from his grasp. He’d rub his thumb over the leaking head of it, dip a nail into the slit just to hear Merlin squeal and jerk in his hold.

A quiet groan escapes from Arthur’s tightly pressed lips. He shoves his fist into his mouth. He’s close. Merlin is too, his whines heightening in pitch. 

Then, Merlin’s body snaps stiff. He moans, low and pained and louder than any noise he’s made so far. It’s singlehandedly the most erotic noise Arthur has ever heard in his life. He can feel the helpless twitch of Merlin’s muscles against his back. He squeezes his eyes shut. Imagines turning around to play with Merlin’s messy little cock.

Arthur fucks his fist faster over himself, chasing the peak of his pleasure. His balls pull in tight and his toes curl. With a flick of the wrist on the upstroke, he comes silently, teeth digging into his first knuckle and hips stuttering. 

He pants, loose-limbed with his orgasm. He’s managed to catch his release in his palm and he wipes it on the grass. If he hadn’t been made dumb by his orgasm, he would have realised his carefully controlled breathing had turned laboured, and that he’s shifting too much for someone who should be asleep. He doesn’t return to his senses quick enough, and he worries— _hopes_ —Merlin knows what happened here, because if Merlin was bold enough to do this, then he ought to be bold enough to make the first move. Arthur certainly can’t. 

“Arthur?” Merlin calls. He doesn’t turn around and his voice is but a whisper, as though he doesn’t want Arthur to acknowledge him, as though he’s afraid of what this might become.

Because tonight wouldn’t have to be the end of this. Perhaps, if Merlin were amenable, once they returned to Camelot, Arthur could expand Merlin’s duties to include servicing him. After a long day of sitting in the throne room, he would return to his chambers where Merlin would undress him, fingers lingering as his skin became exposed. Then Merlin would say to him, “Lie down, sire”, and when Arthur had settled, Merlin would crawl over him. Sit right down on Arthur’s cock and start riding him in a low, dirty grind.

 _Do it, you coward. Turn around,_ Arthur tells himself. Knights do it all the time to keep out the cold and ease the loneliness during long campaigns. It wouldn’t have to mean anything—just friends helping friends. His heart races thinking about crossing this line between master and servant, about addressing this longing between them that manifests itself in the form of full-contact tussles and prolonged eye contact. But he knows himself. He knows that if he did this, he would never be content with being just friends.

Arthur opens his mouth and grunts, “Shut up, Merlin. I’m trying to sleep.”


End file.
